Part 516 (1/2)

PREFACE.

TOBOLSKO, 2d February.

Tum primum radiis gelidi incaluere Triones.

Flowers in Siberia? Behind this lies a piece of knavery, or the sun must make face against midnight. And yet--if ye were to exert yourselves!

'Tis really so; we have been hunting sables long enough; let us for once in a way try our luck with flowers. Have not enough Europeans come to us stepsons of the sun, and waded through our hundred years' snow, to pluck a modest flower? Shame upon our ancestors--we'll gather them ourselves, and frank a whole basketful to Europe. Do not crush them, ye children of a milder heaven!

But to be serious; to remove the iron weight of prejudice that broods heavily over the north, requires a stronger lever than the enthusiasm of a few individuals, and a firmer Hypomochlion than the shoulders of two or three patriots. Yet if this anthology reconciles you squeamish Europeans to us snow-men as little as--let's suppose the case--our ”Muses'

Almanac,” [61] which we--let's again suppose the case--might have written, it will at least have the merit of helping its companions through the whole of Germany to give the last neck-stab to expiring taste, as we people of Tobolsko like to word it.

If your Homers talk in their sleep, and your Herculeses kill flies with their clubs--if every one who knows how to give vent to his portion of sorrow in dreary Alexandrines, interprets that as a call to Helicon, shall we northerns be blamed for tinkling the Muses' lyre?--Your matadors claim to have coined silver when they have stamped their effigy on wretched pewter; and at Tobolsko coiners are hanged. 'Tis true that you may often find paper-money amongst us instead of Russian roubles, but war and hard times are an excuse for anything.

Go forth then, Siberian anthology! Go! Thou wilt make many a c.o.xcomb happy, wilt be placed by him on the toilet-table of his sweetheart, and in reward wilt obtain her alabaster, lily-white hand for his tender kiss.

Go! thou wilt fill up many a weary gulf of ennui in a.s.semblies and city-visits, and may be relieve a Circa.s.sienne, who has confessed herself weary amidst a shower of calumnies. Go! thou wilt be consulted in the kitchens of many critics; they will fly thy light, and like the screech-owl, retreat into thy shadow. Ho, ho, ho! Already I hear the ear-cracking howls in the inhospitable forest, and anxiously conceal myself in my sable.

SUPPRESSED POEMS.

THE JOURNALISTS AND MINOS.

I chanced the other eve,-- But how I ne'er will tell,-- The paper to receive.

That's published down in h.e.l.l.

In general one may guess, I little care to see This free-corps of the press Got up so easily;

But suddenly my eyes A side-note chanced to meet, And fancy my surprise At reading in the sheet:--

”For twenty weary springs”

(The post from Erebus, Remark me, always brings Unpleasant news to us)--

”Through want of water, we Have well-nigh lost our breath; In great perplexity h.e.l.l came and asked for Death;

”'They can wade through the Styx, Catch crabs in Lethe's flood; Old Charon's in a fix, His boat lies in the mud,

”'The dead leap over there, The young and old as well; The boatman gets no fare, And loudly curses h.e.l.l.'

”King Minos bade his spies In all directions go; The devils needs must rise, And bring him news below.

”Hurrah! The secret's told They've caught the robber's nest; A merry feast let's hold!

Come, h.e.l.l, and join the rest!

”An author's countless band, Stalked round Cocytus' brink, Each bearing in his hand A gla.s.s for holding ink.

”And into casks they drew The water, strange to say, As boys suck sweet wine through An elder-reed in play.

”Quick! o'er them cast the net, Ere they have time to flee!

Warm welcome ye will get, So come to Sans-souci!

”Smelt by the king ere long, He sharpened up his tooth, And thus addressed the throng (Full angrily, in truth):